Monday: brown Prada tweed pumps

I admit, I can be something of an impulse buyer. And unfortunately for me, those impulse buys used to take place primarily at places like the Prada boutique on Fifth Avenue — places, I should point out, with nonexistent return policies.

At some point — perhaps after I had given my umpteenth unworn Prada shoes away — I figured out that I needed to stick to shopping at places like Saks and Bergdorf’s, where indecisiveness is considered perfectly acceptable, if not encouraged. In fact, some of my favorite salespeople at those places are known to call me up when new merch comes in and say things like, “Oh, I’ll just put it on your card and send it to you and you can decide if you like it later. It’s triple points, and you can always return it!” (I imagine they bet on my forgetting to return it — fairly good odds, actually.)

Dangerous.

Especially because these cozy relationships with people who work on commission make for very awkward moments at the return counter. I just feel so guilty. I suppose returning one pair of shoes for every three I buy isn’t egregiously bad — though returning all three of the Nancy Gonzalez bags I bought on one giddy shopping spree, I admit, might have been, however fiscally sound a move it was. Still I’m not above calling a store to find out a salesperson’s work schedule so I’d know what days not to come in to make a return. (At least in the Saks and Bergdorf’s shoe departments, the return desk is located off the sales floor, so the likelihood of being caught returning by the one who sold you the item is slightly lessened.)

Still, I have this awful feeling that the salespeople get weekly reports of the commissions made and lost, and they know when I do them wrong. That I’m on some America’s Most Wishy-Washy list posted on the wall of the employee lounge. Am I just being paranoid? Or did that shoe salesman really just give me the evil eye?

Friday: Prada croc and snakeskin peep-toe pumps

I haven’t even settled on a winter handbag yet — that dark caramel Celine bag I’m toting around right now is merely for autumn/pre-winter, and since my mom’s purge has scared me straight(ish), I gotta choose carefully — but I’ve already found one for, say, early March 2006. Darn these resort collections!

This updated YSL Mombasa bag may be made of linen, but it’s got the chocolate appliqués that keep one toe dipped in winter. Or at least that’s what I’ll be telling myself when I’m unable to resist carrying it in the middle of a blizzard, and that one toe is quickly getting frostbitten. After all, the Bergdorf’s site says it’ll ship by January 20, which in New York is no more than 25% of the way into the season.

So the bag kind of explains the whole “resort collection” concept, doesn’t it? In My Other Life those first months of the year would be spent somewhere like Turks & Caicos, where the temperature doesn’t ever vary much from, oh, about 75°. Ah, to be in a place where linen’s appropriate all year long — and to have a staff to do my ironing for me!

Wednesday: black Gucci guccissima slingbacks

I used to think that if I ever passed up a sample sale it was a sure sign that I was officially too old — or, come to think of it, maybe just dead.

In my first years in New York City (and during a stint in London) I thrived on going to sample sales — and back then, they were often secret invitation-only events, or small and spontaneous and spread by word-of-mouth. So there was a sense that we lucky few were really insiders, pioneers, retail rejecters. And I did have some great finds: Burberry shearling earmuffs, Lulu Guinness evening bags, one fabulous flower-motif skirt from Alber Elbaz’s last collection for Guy Laroche, some pretty Me + Ro pieces I’d never pay full price for, and a number of staples from up-and-coming designers who’ve long since gotten out of the business. Mostly at fire-sale prices to boot.

Many sharp elbows thrown later, I find that I no longer have the appetite to brave the lines and skirmishes. These days, sample sales are far too organized — listed in the Daily Candy and on the New York Magazine website, so that the most intrepid shoppers are already knocking at the door of some studio on West 37th Street before I’ve even had my morning coffee. The thrill of the hunt has been replaced by the . . . chill, heat, whatever, I can’t deal. (It also doesn’t help that eBay offers similar thrills of discovery, without the rough crowds.)

What’s happened to me? It’s like waking up one day in your 40s and realizing that you’ve become a Republican. (Well, not quite, but you get what I’m saying: Let’s call it “retail conservative.”) On the one hand, if you could afford Bergdorf’s wouldn’t you prefer to shop there (even though the shoe department is a war zone on a good day)? On the other, I’m feeling rather nostalgic for those heady innocent days of yore. Come to think of it, I might just check out that Denise Williamson showroom sale later this week. Oh, wait, it’s downtown? You know, Bergdorf’s is so much closer. . .